Free
by JFW1415
Summary: ONE-shot. Max and Fang when they were still in the E shaped house, one year after Jeb has left. Max is just now accepting the fact that Jeb won't be coming back, and Fang is trying to comfort her. Sort of fax, but more friendship they're just kids.


**********_DISCLAIMER: Maximum Ride belongs to James Patterson._ **

**_CLAIMER: Any new plot ideas and characters in this story are mine, unless otherwise noted._**

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Free 

"Hey, Max," a soft voice calls out from behind me. I don't bother to turn around; I know who it is, and he knows that I don't want him to be here.

I keep walking, letting my combat boots drag through the dusty hay as I go. His gaze lingers on my back, but I refuse to face him, to talk to him. I pause, reaching up and brushing my hand on the wooden beam just above my head, transferring some of the dust onto my fingers. I rub them together, watching as it falls to the ground, mixing in with the dirt and hay, becoming invisible, just as I wish I could do.

"Max," Fang says again, his voice quiet, as if he's afraid he'll set me off if he speaks too loudly. I ignore him, instead allow my eyes to wander to the edge of the hayloft, where the floor ends abruptly, making the aisle's ceiling the same as the hayloft's. I wonder if it would hurt if I jumped off the edge and _didn't_ extend my wings.

I tear my eyes away, knowing that I should feel ashamed for thinking things like that, but not actually feeling sorry. I walk over to the window in the wall; a square opening with a ledge surrounding it like a frame. It's two stories to the ground. If this were a real stable, if real people worked in it and real animals lived in it, stable hands would throw bales of hay down to the lower level of the barn for the animals down there.

I sink down to the ground, my hand gripping the shelf-like ledge above my head so I don't fall to the packed yellow dirt below. The tiny legs of spiders tickle my fingers as they crawl over them, bumping into each other, hurrying to get to their destinations.

"Max," Fang says again, his voice bordering on pleading. I give in, risking a quick glace back at him. His shoulders are stooped, and his black hair brushes against the wooden beam I had fit under perfectly. His eyes catch mine for a moment, then I pulled away, not wanting to be comforted by him, by anyone. I hear the echo of the wood as he walks forward, his steps heavy and deliberate.

I look out into the late summer sky, trying to ignore the fact that his presence is coming closer and closer. His footsteps finally stop right behind me, and I pull my hand down from the ledge so he can't put his next to it, shaking my fingers slightly to dislodge the webs that had stuck to them. I let my hand fall, gripping the ledge beside me.

"What was that all about?" he whispers, sinking down to the ledge beside me. "In the house?" His legs dangle out into the air, swaying gently, the muscles I know cover them concealed by black denim despite the heat. His hand grips the ledge, right next to mine, separated by only inches of wood.

"Nothing," I lie, turning my face away from him. Our lake stands in the distance, it's dark blue surface still, reflecting the soft colors from the setting sun. Like soldiers protecting a queen, trees stand guard around the water; millions and millions of tall, swaying trees. The leaves are starting to fall, the first sign of the incoming autumn, and they will leave the trees dead. The leaves will come back, though, and the trees will have life again. They always do. So why can't people?

"That wasn't nothing, Max," Fang says. From the corner of my eye I can see that he has turned, that his body is now angled toward mine, watching my every move. I let out a quiet sigh and lean my body against the brittle wood, let my eyes drift shut, block out the world.

For several minutes the only thing you can hear is our breathing. It seems to be in sync, our chests rising and falling at the same time. Everything around us is silent, holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Even the trees have stopped swaying in the gentle breeze. They stand erect, waiting to see if they can be of service.

Finally, Fang begins to move his hand. He inches it closer to mine, slowly, his eyes glued on the movement. More white shows in them than normal, as if he's shocked about what's happening, as if he has no control over what his hand is doing. One finger covers mine, and then another, so slowly I'm sure the hayloft will rot and fall beneath us before his hand completely covers mine.

His hand stops moving abruptly, and Fang continues to stare at the foreign sight in front of him: his hand covering mine. "It's been one year," I whispered, trying to get him to stop staring at our hands, to stop acting like it's this huge deal. "One whole year since he left." I open my eyes, forcing myself not to close them again when the view of the crystal clear lake fills my vision, mocking me with its peacefulness.

"Did you remember?" I ask him, turning to face my best friend. He's finally drawn his eyes away from our hands, having returned to staring into the distance, refusing to meet my prying eyes.

"No," he admits, still not looking at me. My eyes rest on his hand, still covering my left one. His tan skin contrasts with mine, his hand protects mine. His hand is soft, enveloping my tense one.

He hadn't even known why he was comforting me, yet he came, tried to hold me, tried to do anything to ease the pain. How can he understand, though, if he can't even remember that it's the anniversary of the day he left?

I pull my hand out from beneath his, hear his concealed sigh, and place it back in my lap, the fingers closed in a fist so he can't try to hold it again.

"He's dead, isn't he?" I ask, looking up at Fang. "He's really not coming back."

"No. I don't think he is," Fang whispers. He looks at me, silently pleading with me to just let him comfort me, to let him be strong for me, to let him be my rock to lean on when things get tough. I look straight ahead, watching the sun disappear, counting down the time, waiting for it to disappear and give me the mask of dark to cry under.

"I just…I just need to get out of here for a while, okay?" I say, reaching up and wrapping my fingers around the ledge, using it to pull myself up. Fang looks up at me, his onyx eyes pleading with me to stay, but he knows that this is what I need. He nods slowly, then looks away, ashamed that I can't find comfort in him.

I stare out at the sun, the tip of it just barely showing, and whisper down to Fang. "I just need to be alone, you know?"

"Yeah. I know," he says, but I know he doesn't. He wants to help me, be my savior, but he can't. Not this time.

I have to become the leader now. I can't be leaning on Fang for support; _I _have to take care of the Flock, _I_ have to be strong.

I take a deep breath, surprised when it comes out strong and steady. I duck down, then step off of the ledge, letting myself fall to the ground two stories below.

I count to myself, knowing that my time is getting short, that I have to spread my wings. Time seems to slow down, and the ground comes up closer and closer to me, taunting me. Mocking me for even thinking about leaving my wings tucked in.

I snap my wings out, and am immediately welcomed by a gust of warm wind under me, holding me, lifting me up in the air and away from the unforgiving ground. Behind me, I know that Fang has let out a sigh of relief, and that his muscles visibly relaxed when my wings snapped out. I know that inside the house, Nudge is talking non-stop. I know that Iggy is cooking dinner, and that Gazzy is talking to him about some bomb. I know that my baby Angel is sleeping, having stayed up the whole night before to watch the lunar eclipse, and to wait for the sun to rise when it was over. I know all of these things are happening on Earth, and I know that now I am away from all of that, distant, free.

I pump my wings hard, bringing myself level with Fang, then higher. Above the window, above the roof, above the trees, above the whole world. I close my eyes and let myself glide through the air, let myself to forget everything, knowing that Fang, whose eyes are still glued on me, will be the rock for the Flock to lean on while I'm gone, will give me a moment to be free.

I look down, and I pity those left on Earth, for they will never know what it truly means to be free, to be able to spread your wings and just _fly_.


End file.
